Shadows
by Cookies and Ink
Summary: Minerva had been told the story of how she died as a child so many times she thought she could remember it. Perhaps that was why Death seemed to have chosen her, followed her, slowly covering her life in shadows and grief. [A Three-Shot]
1. Part One

**A/N:** This is the first segment in a Three Shot around Minerva, and my entry for the Final Round of the 'One Character Competition' specifically. Any prompts and other challenges listed at the bottom. Huge love and thanks to my betas.

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 **Part One**

The First War

Minerva had been eight years old when she first thought she might be cursed, stood in her Grandparents house as her Mother weeped. Her grandmother had died, asleep in her chair surrounded by knitting as Minerva had played out in the garden.

It was the second time she had seen death that year.

Five months ago, out in the forest practicing magic away from prying eyes — mainly her Mother's, for they always widened in fear whenever magic occurred — she had found the body of Timmy Jones who had been missing for five days. She'd known what the body was when she first saw it — she'd long been taking crime and adventure books out of the library under the pretence that she was picking them up for her father. Perhaps that was why Mrs Vendi had told her Dad that he was a wonderful and modern Reverend at the end of last Sunday's service.

What she hadn't been prepared for at the time was the smell, the hours of interviews with aurors, how even years later she still saw the young boy's eyes staring blankly at her, his body covered in blood from the rogue Nundu attack. Her Mother told her later that a breeder in Stirling had been arrested on charges of illegal importation of an extremely dangerous creature.

'Minerva, you helped many people get closure. Even though the Muggles may not know the truth, they can bury their child,' her Mother had whispered in her ear as Malcolm held her tightly; even at four he had hated to see his big sister cry. 'They caught the Nundu too. Thanks to you, they knew what to look for. You helped save a lot of people.'

She had helped her Father plan speeches for funerals, attended many, lost her cat to a fox that had been roaming the highlands… Death was an entity which seemed to plague her, always dancing in her peripheral vision.

It was why she had wanted to be a Gryffindor, the day her Mother told her and her brothers about how they were magical and would go to Hogwarts. Malcolm and Robert had bickered about it for years until they were sorted — Malcolm into Ravenclaw whilst Robert followed her into the house of lions.

Minerva on the other hand had always known she was going into Gryffindor. That was the house she had to be in to protect people. Even at age eight, haunted by the sight of her Grandmother's body, constantly feeling watched by Timmy's glazed over eyes, Minerva knew she had to protect everyone around her.

She was being followed by Death, shadows plaguing her soul — and so she grew strong.

That didn't make it any easier.

Dozens had died by the time war was officially declared. Minerva had already joined and then left the DMLE, realising that she wouldn't be able to make a difference that way, instead hoping to care and look after children. Maybe then she could appease some of the destruction that seemed to occur around her. That had been her hope, and yet under a grey sky Minerva got the news that Duncan, her first love, the one she had turned her back on and never reconciled with, had been killed along with his whole family.

At the cemetery by the church she'd grown up in, Minerva walked through the headstones, shadows clutching at her feet as her pace grew slower, dragging at the tears which threatened to fall from her eyes.

"I'm sorry," she whispered, unsure whether to touch his headstone, whether he'd have even wanted her here. "I left to try to protect you Duncan, to try to protect us. I saw how it destroyed my parents. I didn't want magic, or anything to destroy what we had so I… I destroyed it myself. I thought I was keeping you safe...perhaps I was merely being selfish. Either way, I never meant for this to happen."

All she heard was silence, as the wind whistled through bare branches, kicking up a flurry of leaves which sounded, for a split second, like soft laughter.

Duncan and his family were deaths eight through to eleven, of those that she'd experienced in her life. The war was only growing, her students no longer hopefully or anything resembling jolly, instead constantly tired and fearful. Meanwhile the Order crumbling before it had even begun to lay its foundations. As she knelt, murmuring a prayer she remembered from her youth, trying to find the words to apologise, Minerva knew that Death was sticking close to her side.

He was winning.

That didn't mean she was going down without a fight.

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 **A/N** : Optional prompt 'knitting' used (for One Character Comp)

Also entered in Hogwarts Assignment #10 - Muggle Media, Task 3 Die Hard: Write about somebody who never gives up. Optional prompt 'jolly'


	2. Part Two

**A/N** : Any prompts or comps etc are listed at the bottom. Thank you as always to my wonderful betas.

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 **Part Two**

Gone But Never Forgotten

Minerva had been told the story of how she died so many times, she sometimes thought she could remember it.

But of course, that was impossible.

At only two years old she had stopped breathing, for how long Minerva was never sure as her Mother changed the story upon each re-telling. It had been long enough for her parents to start screaming, for desperate prayers to be uttered and spells cast until she inhaled deeply once more.

It had been long enough for Death to choose her, the one that got away, as his next victim to torment.

She had already heard the rumours when Dumbledore sent her a Patronus message, the one she had been waiting for; the one she had been dreading.

Except it wasn't.

He gave her a mission, one that was apparently urgent, one he needed an Animagus for, as he didn't want any Death Eaters to sense magic in the Muggle area he sent her to survey.

There was no mention of Lily or James. There was no mention of young Harry.

She followed orders.

There had been rumours running rampant that there were codes and secret messages in the papers of who would be next, that Death Eaters could track the Trace, or they could track wands, even that if you said He Who Must Not Be Named's true name he would Apparate to you. So McGonagall didn't question Dumbledore's directive and Apparated to the given location.

Everyone was scared. Everyone was desperate, herself included. The curse was getting stronger, and after Robert…

So many people had been lost. Old colleagues, school peers, students who she had watched grow up too soon, their skin stained with shadows, their smiles marred by grim desperation. Death's laugh echoed through the pages of the obituaries in the Prophet. He had stood behind her at Robert's funeral, her nieces and nephews crying, Malcolm stony faced surrounded by his own family.

She had stood, grieving. She had been apart, alone as she always was no matter how big the crowd.

After that, Minerva thought Death had finished with her — and then Lily Evans and the Marauders had entered her life.

For seven years they were vibrant sparks in the darkness which seemed to permeate every waking moment, the darkness which was overwhelming in her dreams. They reminded her why she fought for the future — their future.

When she got the message from Malcolm — as he Flooed to her house at 2am and swiftly broke the Unspeakable code that had dictated most of his working life, telling her of how You-Know-Who may have been vanquished, that Harry's body hadn't been found with either of his parents but that he was still alive — she had let him talk. He had gone on about spells involving sacrifices, about ancient magic, as Death grinned in her peripheral vision.

She followed orders from Dumbledore, hoping that when Lily had come crying into her office about her sister's latest cruelties over that summer it had all been an out of character bout of teenage angst from her favourite student.

Perhaps teachers weren't supposed to have favourites, but they had always had been — from James' first Transfiguration lesson when he mastered spells with enviable ease and a cocky smile, to their farewell speech they delivered as Head Boy and Girl that brought her to tears and the whole of the Great Hall to a standing ovation.

McGonagall sat as a cat and watched a family she automatically despised, wondering about Harry, about rumours, as people cheered in their newfound liberty and Death laughed softly in her ear.

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 **A/N:** Optional prompt: codes (for the One Character Competition)


	3. Part Three

**A/N:** The final part of my Minerva three - shot for the One Character challenge. Any other prompts and challenges etc are at the bottom of the fic.

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 **Aftermath**

She was never going to be able to put her heart back together.

It had never healed, not after her husband, her mentor, so many lost in both wars. Now she was sure, it was broken beyond repair.

When Hagrid had brought the limp and broken body of Harry, Harry who she had failed to protect so many times, Minerva felt herself shatter.

The battle had raged on, curses flying. Poppy's robes had long been covered in blood and wherever they were, this war zone, the cemetery she found herself running through certainly wasn't Hogwarts.

It was Death's playground.

After fighting him for years, she had lost.

Harry came to find her in July, with a baby in his arms.

The cottage which she'd bought in the Highlands so many years ago had never really meant to become her home. She'd had her Hogwarts quarters as well as her home in Hogsmeade.

Then the war had ended and finally Minerva let herself escape. She had done what was right — she had gone to every funeral for all of the fallen students; she used copious amounts of school funding on mental health programmes; she had met the eyes of parents had failed for as long as she could.

Harry now breaking her self-imposed exile felt much too soon.

"Mr Potter."

"I think after everything we've been through, you should really call me Harry, Professor."

Even after everything he had been through, Harry had ducked his head, muttering with a soft smile that had reminded her so strongly of his eleven year old self; she had to take in a deep breath.

"Minerva."

"I - what?"

"Really Harry, after all these years, you should know my name."

His cheeks darkened slightly, although it was difficult to tell with his skin colouring. As she stepped aside to let Harry in, Teddy wriggled and reached an arm up for Harry's glasses. Minerva smiled and after a few more moments of small talk, which Minerva dragged out — well aware how awkward Harry must be feeling, she offered to make him a cup of tea and took Teddy into her arms. He blinked, his hair turned jet black with grey streaks through it, a not so subtle reminder of how much she'd aged recently. She was feeling every year of it.

"I wanted to come because… because I value your council," Harry began quietly, "and I also wanted to say that I understand Prof - Minerva."

"Understand?" She heard her voice as she said the word, sharp, unforgiving and yet it didn't garner the same effect it normally did in the classroom. Instead, Harry met her gaze and nodded.

"I can't imagine what you've been through. If it wasn't for Teddy, I would have gone travelling and not come back for quite some time."

Minerva stared down at the young boy who blinked sleepily at her. Harry explained that Teddy was due a nap soon, that he'd come to visit on something of a whim and she conjured a bassinette with one hand, cradling the baby in the other arm.

Harry carried on talking as she made tea and put a plate of ginger biscuits on the kitchen table, her gaze on Teddy who was lying in a conjured bassinette, covered in a blanket her grandmother had wrapped her in when she was a baby — according to family legend. Harry spoke about how he hadn't even been sure he wanted to come back to the world of the living, he talked about how he wasn't sure what he wanted to do with his life… he sounded lost, adrift, and Minerva was at a loss for words. How could she possibly give him advice, after all that had happened.

"Harry I.… After everything I let happen, I don't think I can give you much advice," she admitted. At that Harry's head snapped up, looking furious. She instantly recalled how he'd cursed Amycus (?) in the Ravenclaw Common Room and defended her. She held a finger up and tried to slowly explain to herself — not that it seemed to do much good.

She could see it in Lily's eyes, in James' gesticulations as he countered every statement she made. She could see it in Harry himself, how he believed in her more than she did right now. It made her want to be the person he thought she was, the Head of House and long term mentor she'd tried to be. Perhaps she hadn't failed as much as she assumed.

As though Harry was reading her mind, he took a biscuit and stared out it for a long moment.

"Do you remember the time Professor Umbridge sent me to speak with you and you gave me a biscuit?"

She did. She could remember the exact instant he walked through the door, furious and with a note clutched in hand. All she had wanted to do in that instant was try to explain to him how the world works, that he couldn't fight everyone on his own and yet that was what he had ended up doing.

"You've always been there for me, whether you believe or not. You were there when the troll attacked Hermione, when we went to run and tell someone about the Philosopher's Stone being in danger, you were there and helped Hermione with the Time Turner, with Umbridge… Whatever you decide to do Minerva, it should be because it's what you want to do. You've always made me feel like as long as I was confident and knew I was doing the right thing, that it would be okay."

Harry sighed and his gaze rested on Teddy who was smiling in his sleep.

"If you want to not come back to Hogwarts, I'll fully support you. But I know that the school would be happy to have you, that people are full of uncertainty and scared right now."

He didn't say any more, he didn't try to guilt trip her. In fact, he looked tired. She filled their mugs of tea up again and then reached out, putting her hand on top of his.

"Thank you Harry. I've lost so much and I'm worried that going back to school… how can I be Headmistress after Albus, after Severus and everything that happened last year."

"I don't know," Harry admitted. "But if anyone can do it, you can. Everyone wants you to and I'll support you. I was thinking actually, well, Hermione and I were wondering if we could come back to study our NEWTs. The Auror Programme have invited me and Ron, I think he's going to take it but I think I need to focus on the future, I don't want to keep fighting or get a free pass."

Harry ended up staying for dinner, Teddy's hair changing vibrantly even in his sleep and particularly through a tantrum after being changed. When he left, Minerva caught a shadow in the corner of her eye. She turned to face it head on, thoughts drifting back to Death, back to the life that she'd led.

There was nothing there. Only two mugs on the kitchen table, the warmth of friendship in her heart and ideas of the future running through her mind once more.

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 **A/N:** One Character Optional Prompt: 'Your character must be injured in some way'.

Thank you for all reviews, feedback and favourites.


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